A Bet To Regret
by Noir Lime Canuto
Summary: "Fine," Draco murmured, "But it can't be a first year, or a teacher, or Mrs. Norris, or anything- that'd be nasty. And you aren't allowed to use the imperious curse." He forgot one important rule: It can't be Granger.
1. Terms

Disclaimer: This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to Warner Bros. Entertainment, J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fanfiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A Bet To Regret** _Chapter one; Terms_

It wasn't like Draco needed the money. As soon as his father got himself killed off, he'd inherit all the money. He'd give some of that to his mother, should she die after his father, but even then, it'd be more than enough for anyone to feel rich.

Money came with being a Malfoy. The problem was that something else came with being a Malfoy, and that something was pride. And, naturally, it was a matter of pride. Also, he wanted to wipe that smirk off of Zabini's face-- how dare he insinuate that girls were more attracted to himself than they were to Draco! Sure, his cheekbones were to die for, but Draco played Quidditch.

"Fine," Draco said, "But it can't be a first year, or a teacher, or Mrs. Norris or anything, that'd be nasty. And you aren't allowed to use the imperious curse."

"Don't worry, I'm much more scared of breaking one of your rules than one of the Ministry's, I wont be preforming any curses you don't want me to."

"You really should be scared of me, you know."

"Anyway, so those are your terms?"

"Yeah. Also, I want to chose first."

"Fine, go ahead."

"Luna Lovegood! You have to get_ Luna Lovegood _to be your girlfriend."

"Sounds easy enough. I'll just make up that I'm some prince of an imaginary world and she'll be blown away. I already look like one."

"Yeah, if we're talking Planet of the Apes."

"That wasn't even clever."

"It was a pop-culture reference, you dolt. I thought you took muggle studies?"

"That doesn't mean I actually did anything in that class."

"Oh, I'm sure you did plenty, Blaise. Heard you were busy_ studying_ the professor, that's why you took it."

"My mum made me!"

"Yeah, my mum made me, too. Really, Zabini, get your mind out of the gutter."

"Hermione Granger!"

"What?"

"That's who you have to have be your girlfriend. Mudblood Granger."

"New rule--"

"Even taking your mental capacity into account, you're a little late, Draco."

"Even taking your mother-- who, let's not forget 'made you'-- into account, you're a little bit of a self-righteous git, Blaise."

Draco mentally winced. He wasn't having a very good day for come-backs. He always went rather easy on Blaise, though, as he was better company than Crabbe or Goyle, and for that he was grateful.

And so, that was why Draco was trying to compose a poem. Mudblood liked reading things, so he'd have to write something.


	2. Poetry

Disclaimer: This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to Warner Bros. Entertainment, J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fanfiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A Bet To Regret** _Chapter two; A Poem_

Draco glared at the scroll. Why the hell wasn't there a spell out there that could write a poem for him? Normally, he would have stolen someone else's poem, but he couldn't risk it, as Granger had probably read every book in the library.

He didn't know how to start it, but he knew how he wouldn't. You couldn'y pay him to write, 'Cauldron's are black, Galleons are gold,' because, remember, he didn't need the money. Also, it was _beyond_ cheesy, and Malfoys were classy. _Upper-_classy.

Finally, he put his quill down to the parchment, and decided to take it word by word. What was a nice, classy word?

'_Thine_,' he wrote. Thine was a classy word, and a poetic one, too. Plus, many things rhymed with thine. Dine, mine, fine, incline, shrine, line, nine... many, many things. And all good poems rhymed.

Then he remembered something. You didn't rhyme the first words, you rhymed the last one. Frowning, he tapped the parchment and the word vanished.

He should say something about her eyes. People were always talking about people's eyes.

'_I have never seen eyes as exquisite as thine_,' he wrote. Exquisite was another classy word...

The process went on slowly for an hour until Draco finally decided that his poem was long enough. He lifted the parchment up, and read it silently to himself.

'_I have never seen eyes as exquisite as thine,_

_They're a deep, warm, gentle sort of brown,_

_I often whisper, 'if only they were mine,'_

_And when I remember that you are not, I frown._

_You tend to read an awful lot of books,_

_I wish that you bestowed such fancy on me,_

_But I'm afraid I can only offer good looks,_

_For there is no story to see._

_Some days I sit in class,_

_Most often it's Transfiguration,_

_Pondering how you can be such a clever lass,_

_And yet also the source of frustration._

_So you see, I am troubled, for you are not mine,_

_Although 'my' is in your name,_

_I wish I could charm myself a spine, _

_And ask if your heart I could claim.'_

It had taken him nearly a quarter of an hour coming up with the last line, but he was proud of his poem. And so he went off to the owlry, to send it to her anonymously via school-owl.


	3. Actor

Disclaimer: This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to Warner Bros. Entertainment, J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fanfiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended.

A Bet To Regret Chapter three, An Actor

Luna Lovegood was a big fan of the color yellow. Canary yellow was a lovely, happy color, and so sometimes she wished she'd been sorted into Hufflepuff, where she could wear yellow all the time. But, no, she was stuck with blue. Luckily, blue and yellow looked very nice together.

So, that day she was wearing dangling earrings that were larger than her ears themselves, charmed to look like living butterflies [they even flapped their wings and tried to fly around sometimes!]. They put her in a rather good mood, and she felt ready to take on the world.

She was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, alone as usual, taking dainty bites out of a slice of pumpkin pie, the newest addition of The Quibbler laying next to her plate. And then she heard someone sit down. Suddenly she was no longer sitting alone. Probably not a lot of room elsewhere, then.

"Hi there! Luna Lovegood, right? Mind if I sit here?"

Luna looked up. A tall, rather handsome boy, with angular, almost regal features, was sitting next to her, smiling.

"Sure, you can sit there," she said, shrugging. Her face didn't betray any of her emotions, it just looked, as usual, blank, and rather distant. "Most people call my Looney," she told him, tilting her head to the side less than subtly as she studied his features with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

The boy feigned a taken-aback expression. "Really?" he asked, trying to sound mildly surprised, "But your name is so nice already. It already has the moon, goodness, and love right there in it."

"You're making fun of me," she stated, matter-of-factly, turning back to her pumpkin pie and taking another small bite.

"I'm not! Honest!" Blaise said. He wasn't a very good actor, it was obvious that he was hiding something.

Luna didn't even look up this time, as she said, "You are. You're a Slytherin at the Ravenclaw table, you're a year above me, you have plenty of friends to sit with instead, you asked to sit down, you smiled at a stranger on a Monday morning, and when you speak the timing is off, always just a little too slow or a little too fast, so you are hardly convincing."

Blaise frowned. This wasn't progress. "I can explain that," he said, avoiding eye contact. Not that it was exactly possible, because she was looking at her pie, but just in case. "You see, I... Well, I've seen you around before, and people are always talking about you, and I swore I saw your sneakers hanging somewhere once, and..."

He saw out of the corner of his eye that she'd looked up curiously. Well, he thought it was curiously, at least, he couldn't really tell from her expression.

"I've sort of wanted to meet you for quite some time... You're really pretty, and—and I think you're interesting, too, and, I mean..." he stammered and looked down, feigning ashamed.

"That's nice of you to say," she said dreamily. Blaise looked at her, waiting for the rest, but it didn't seem she had anything more to say to him, after he had practically confessed a crush. She just went on with her pie again.

Blaise smiled inwardly. At least he'd made better progress than Draco must've.

Luna thought this boy was rather strange. Definitely lying. Well, no, maybe telling the truth. She'd see. If he sat with her again for the rest of the week, he was telling the truth. If he didn't, he was either lying, or easily discouraged. Silly Slytherins thought they were such good actors.


	4. Author

Disclaimer: This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to Warner Bros. Entertainment, J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fanfiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended.

A Bet To Regret Chapter four, An Author

Although Hermione herself was not aware of it, the day before, Blaise had made his first attempt to win the bet. This was understandable, as she wasn't aware there even was a bet, in fact, if she had been, she probably would have been able to identify the author right away.

Anyway, the point is, she wasn't aware, and so she was rather surprised when an owl came for her during breakfast that wasn't from the Daily Profit.

"'Ey, 'Erbybe, ooh ob ab owble!"

Hermione looked at Ron blankly for a moment. The cleverest witch of their age couldn't figure out exactly what Ron was saying when his face was stuffed with food. Luckily for that clever witch, Harry could. Or, rather, he could figure it out, as he put two-and-two together when a school owl landed next to her plate.

"Hermione, you've got an owl," he told her, though it was a little late, as she'd already seen it herself. She glanced at Harry, confused, clearly hoping he had more answers up his sleeve. The blank look she received revealed that he did not, in fact, know any more than she did about the owl.

She took the scroll of parchment from it's leg, and unraveled it, her eyes growing wider the more she read. So much so that Harry was growing concerned. Ron was concerned as well, but that was due more to the fact that the nearby platter of scrambled eggs was empty.

"Hermione, who's it from?" he asked casually.

She looked up at him, a very, very odd mix of emotions in her eyes. "I don't know, they signed it..." her voice trailed off.

Harry looked from her to the parchment. What could possibly be written on it to have moved Hermione so? An odd expression came over her face, and she muttered something that sounded like, "Excuse-library-homework-loo-must-now-me," and practically ran from the table. Harry knew better than to follow her, and instead gazed, perplexed, at the spot where she'd been.

Then, after looking at it for quite some time, he noticed something. She'd left the bit of parchment behind...

He could almost see the miniature angel and devil as he weighed the decision.

_She wouldn't ever know. You saw how weird she got... it's probably something serious. You should look, for her own safety..._

**She wouldn't want you to look... If she had wanted to show you, she would have herself before she left. Respect her wishes...**

_Her wishes before her safety? Her well being?... It wasn't a matter of burning curiosity, it could be a matter of life or death!_

The impulse to look appealed to his hero-complex, and he did. Gingerly, he lifted up the piece of paper, and read it silently to himself.

'_I have never seen eyes as exquisite as thine,_

_They're a deep, warm, gentle sort of brown,_

_I often whisper, 'if only they were mine,'_

_And when I remember that you are not, I frown._

_You tend to read an awful lot of books,_

_I wish that you bestowed such fancy on me,_

_But I'm afraid I can only offer good looks,_

_For there is no story to see._

_Some days I sit in class,_

_Most often it's Transfiguration,_

_Pondering how you can be such a clever lass,_

_And yet also the source of frustration._

_So you see, I am troubled, for you are not mine,_

_Although 'my' is in your name,_

_I wish I could charm myself a spine, _

_And ask if your heart I could claim.'_

_**~Love, your secret admirer~**_

Harry looked it over immediately for secret messaged. If you read the first letter of every like, you got 'It I a Yibfsmp as I Al.' There were no random breaks in rhyming, nor was there any other indication that lead some lines to stand out from the rest. So, if it wasn't a secret message...

Either Hermione had a secret admirer, or she had a very, very twisted enemy. Voldemort was pretty twisted, but this wasn't at all his style. It wasn't Malfoy's, either, or Pansy Parkinson's, or any other person who had something against Hermione that he knew about. There was clearly too much time put into it to be a joke...

"Oi, Ron?"

"Whaf?"

"Swallow."

"...Fine. What is it? 'Ey, where'd Hermione go?"

"Did you send Hermione a letter?"

"Why would I do that? I see her every day. Except in the Summers. I mean, I sent her a letter or two over the Summer, if that's what you mean? Why?"

"No reason."

"Tell me Harry!"

"Fine, read this."

"..."

"Did you write it?"

"You think I would write that?"

"Well, I mean, I always thought you rather fancied, but I mean, if you _don't_--"

"No, I mean, it's a_ poem_."

"Oh, right."

"Yeah. Where's Hermione?"

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this far! Thank you also to all those who've taken time to review! It really makes my day :D

Also, thank you especially to _V__incablack _who noticed an inconsistency and was kind enough to point it out. I'm really not good about that sort of thing, so if you see an error, please, do let me know :)


	5. CeruleanTufted Aormpkleschod

Disclaimer: This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to Warner Bros. Entertainment, J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fanfiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A Bet To Regret:** _Chapter five, A __Cerulean-Tufted Aormpkleschod _

"So, you've decided breakfast is better than lunch, then?" Luna murmured as she heard someone sit down to her left. She didn't look up, her eyes busy tracing across Page 16 of The Quibbler.

"How'd you know it was me?" Blaise said, putting his head in his hands in what he thought was a handsome, roguish way. He was quite put-out when Luna still didn't look up, but pleased that she'd answered.

"No one else sits with me. Ginny does sometimes. You must be right handed. Ginny's a lefty," she told him plainly, her voice more vague than usual as most of her attention was taken by the article.

"Wow, are you a seer?" he thought it sounded stupid in his head, but it was even worse out loud. At least it sounded almost genuine.

"No," she said. Her tone wasn't sharp, just a casual sort of blank.

Blaise had never fancied himself a particularly smooth talker. If the girl cooperated, he could flirt easily and shamelessly, but if Luna wouldn't even look at him, he'd have a hard time. He realized this with a frown, which he didn't bother to conceal because he figured she wouldn't look up anyway.

"Really? How'd you know I was right handed, then?" he asked, making another attempted at sounding interested and impressed.

"You sat on my left-hand side. Even if you hadn't, righties are more common than lefties, so it could have been a lucky guess. Why're you playing dumb?"

Blaise almost let out a noise of frustration before he remembered how she could hear him still. It was like talking to a brick wall-- a brick wall who had the favorable option of looking at you, but chose not to anyway... and pointed out the obvious... and made you look like an idiot. No, it really wasn't like talking to a brick wall at all.

"Hey, it's Ravenclaws who're known for being smart, not Slytherins."

"I don't know why you'd be sorted into either house, really."

"Why's that?" He didn't want to know.

"Because you aren't very bright, it doesn't seem. And if you're just faking this, then your a horrible lier, and then if you're a horrible lier, you're not exactly cunning. And, if you tried to pull something over on me that heavily required a skill you lack, then you'd have to be stupid. And, if you're not very bright, it would be rather difficult to be particularly cunning. So, no matter what, I think you'd better belong in Gryfindor, or Hufflepuff."

"Oh." He'd been called a Hufflepuff. _And_ a Gryfindor. Which wouldn't have been as bad if he weren't a Slytherin. But he was, and so it was.

He tried again. "So, what're you reading?" And almost instantly he regretted it. Luna, who'd seemed rather detached from the conversation before, finally looked up at him, and, after failing to acknowledge his handsome features, proceeded to lecture him about the Cerulean-Tufted Aormpkleschod for the remainder of breakfast.

He considered, for a moment, that it was time to try a more direct approach.

_**~x~x~x~x~x~**_

Draco lurked just beside the bottom of a staircase, a smirk on his face. He felt like a real villain, lurking in the shadows, waiting to spring out at some unsuspecting kid. It was a wonderful feeling. And then, just as he'd thought it, the ideal unsuspecting kid appeared. He was a Gryfindor, which was perfect. Only a year or two his junior.

The unfortunate fellow was straightening his red and gold tie when he found, suddenly, that his hands were not alone at his collar. He looked up, into the cold, gray eyes of the Slytherin bully.

Draco was pleased to find that he had a basilisk-esque effect on the boy. One look into his eyes and he was a goner. Still, it was more business-like if he followed the usual routine, and used his grip on his collar to pin him up against the wall.

"You don't like getting hurt, right kid?" The boy nodded hesitantly, clearly thinking that this was a trick question, and any answer he might give would end up in pain.

"Good. Because I don't like hurting people too often," the boy swallowed, or tried to, and Draco continued, "Now, because you don't like getting hurt, I'll cut you a deal. Help you out. You're gonna tell me Hermione Granger's favorite color, and you're not going to tell anyone about this, and I'll make sure that that big Slythering bloke-- Draco Malfoy, I think it was-- doesn't pull out his wand and reconfigure your face into something you'd wipe of your shoe."

The boy made a sort of choking sound, and Draco loosened his grip. "M-m-midnight blue," he spat out, flinching.

"Thanks," he said, letting the kid down. The Gryfindor looked relieved-- too relieved, for Malfoy's taste-- so Malfoy glared down at the boy before adding simply, "I'll. Know."

Now, what sort of a flower came in midnight blue?


	6. Florist

Disclaimer: _This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fan fiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended._

Author's Note: _Sorry this one is so long__1__! I figured it made up for the fact that I've been evil and haven't updated in like forever! D: Sorry! Thank you so much to all who read!_

_This chapter is dedicated to Cullens-little-sis, and all the other amazing people who take time out to leave reviews! Thanks for brightening my day!_

**A Bet To Regret:** _Chapter six, Florist_

After a few moments of considering what sort of flower came in blue, Draco realized that everything came in every color, because he had a wand. He really was having an off-day. Off-week, more like.

_**~x~x~x~x~x~**_

Roses.

He looked at them critically, unsure if they were right yet. His wand moved through his fingers as he thought. He'd already turned them midnight blue, but they just weren't classy enough yet. Anyone could give a girl roses. Which would, admittedly, help to hide his identity until the most opportune moment, but it was a matter of a principle, not practicality. It always was.

Rose made out of silver.

Yeah, silver was pretty classy, but not to the point where it would obviously be from someone as rich as him. Plus he already had a broken silver watch laying around that he'd been meaning to transfigure. It was still lacking something, though...

Roses made out of silver, with compliments etched on to each petal. Now _that_ was classy. Now all he had to do was figure out whether or not he should wrap them.

_**~x~x~x~x~x~**_

Hermione hadn't brought up the mysterious letter, and was grateful that Ron and Harry hadn't either. She could just forget it, the joke someone had played. She had a sense of humor, she wasn't as boring as people thought she was. She didn't need love notes, or romantic poetry to evaluate herself, she knew she was smart, and sort of pretty, and loyal, and no silly boy needed to tell her that.

"Uh, Hermione?"

"Yeah?.. Oh."

Another visit from an owl. This time it was roses. Of course Harry and Ron would find out, Harry wouldn't laugh, but Ron probably would, he wouldn't mean anything by it of course, but-- oh look, they were already exchanging glances.

Hermione clasped her hands together, acting pleased, "Oh, good, they came!" She flashed a smile to her two good friends, and the several students nearby who'd also looked over suspiciously, and got up from the table, taking the oddly colored roses with her. "Got to go put these in a vase," she murmured as she walked away.

As soon as she got out the door though, she allowed the color to drain completely from her face.

Roses? They'd sent her roses? Was she being wooed or harassed? What was this?

She made her way to the portrait of The Unfortunately Larger Than Average Lady.

"Ooh, what's this? Roses? You lucky little lady! I remember back when I--"

"Indigo bunting."

"Well, I wasn't as rude when I was your age. Hmmf."

The portrait swung open, and Hermione made her way into the common room. Sitting down on a comfortable chair, avoiding a group of studying Seventh years, she looked more closely at the odd metal flowers, and saw that there was writing on the petals.

"Does the depth of your intelligence surpass the depth of your sweet brown eyes? I cannot tell," one read.

"You're very kind, I wish I were kind like you."

"I really like the way your sometimes put your hair up, it makes you look like some sort of queen," read another.

She frowned. They were almost flattering, but mostly either weird, or sort of silly.

Who sent them? Did she even want to know? What if it was Colin Creevey_2_, or someone?

_**~x~x~x~x~x~**_

__"Hey, Luna?"

"Yeah, you can sit there." She didn't even look up. Why wouldn't she look up?

"No, well, I mean, thanks, but..."

She looked up at him, blank as ever. "What?"

"Wouldyougooutwithme?" He was lucky, because this time he didn't have to fake nervous. He was asking _Lunatic Lovegood_ out, for Merlin's sake.

"Probably not. Why, are you planning on asking?" she tilted her head, trying to read his face. As if he were the cryptic one.

Hadn't he just asked her? Where had she been for that? Clearly not anywhere close to where everyone else was.

"Maybe. What would I have to do for you to say yes?" Maybe he could make this work. He tilted his head down a little, so she could see his big, gorgeous brown eyes.

He couldn't tell if she was thinking it over, or has forgotten his question entirely, because she continued eating her pie for a moment. Today it was pumpkin.

"I couldn't say."

"You couldn't?"

She shook her head no, and continued eating until he raised his voice.

"How can you be so clueless? I'm clearly devoted to you! I've been sitting here, and complimenting you, and pretending like I care about cereal-whatevers, and, and--" she looked up at him. He couldn't tell if she was about to apologize, or start laughing. "Nevermind," he finished.

"Ok," she said placidly, and returned to her pie.

Blaise threw his hands in the air, though Luna didn't seem to notice, and left the table.

_**~x~**_

_**~Footnotes~**_

_1 _[Even the author's note was terribly long! D: This always happens when I have to write from Hermione's perspective, I end up having to justify her every move~]

_2 _[Or, as some know him, Colin Creepy. Because, let's face it folks, he kind of is.]


	7. Tears

Disclaimer: _This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fan fiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended._

Author's Note: _Thank you so, so much for reading. I'm sorry it's taken me so painfully long, I had a lot of things going on and kept getting the chapter wrong. Thanks, also, to those of you who review. You're really the spiffiest sort of people. :)_

** A Bet To Regret:** _Chapter Seven, Tears_

She had to know. She_ had _to. This much she could admit. Why did she have to know who it was? She had to... put a stop to it, or something. Before they sent something else, or before people started taking notice. But who was it?

They'd said in the poem that they watched her during transfiguration. A Ravenclaw, then. A Ravenclaw? It sort of made sense, she supposed, as they valued intelligence and people said she had that... Or else... Perhaps they had specified Transfiguration simply to throw her off?

If they wanted to make known who they were, they would have done so, and they couldn't possibly be so stupid as to put in a class they actually had with her, right?

Or maybe they were stupid. Or maybe they knew that she'd know that it was a stupid thing to do, so they knew that she'd think that she knew what they knew, so she'd know what they wanted her to think... Or maybe she was going completely insane.

Perhaps she needed to start somewhere else. Not what house they were in, but what sort of person they were. Who would send her a poem and roses? Well, who would write her a poem, and send her roses... write her a poem... write... writing... hand writing! Hermione suppressed a grin, though there was no one else in the room to see it.

It was all so simple now. She'd get the letter, use that charm she'd learned in Chapter 7 of 'Quick And Tricksy Spells For Tricking Quickly.' Sure it was a spell normally used for forging signatures, but spells could be useful in unexpected ways sometimes. It was a simple charm, really, she'd just use it to write a new letter in the same hand writing that the poem had been written in, present the new letter to various teachers, and ask if they knew who the letter belonged to so she could return it.

Hermione's smile faded as she reviewed her plan in her head. She didn't have the poem. She'd left it... Where had she left it? It felt like ages ago. She'd just gotten up and left the table, and then she'd put the poem... The poem. She'd left it on the table. That meant Ron had probably read it, and then showed it to Harry and... Well, she was very proud of them for not mentioning it. But now what was she--

"Oof!"

Hermione collided with something. Or, rather, someone. In an instant, they were both on the ground, and except for the initial sound of shock, they remained silent for a few seconds while they each sorted things out in their head. They were walking, and then they crashed into someone and fell. Not exactly advanced transfiguration, but it's hard to get your wits about you when they've been scattered across a castle's hard floor. And then, they both seemed to sit up and make eye contact at about the same time.

"Blaise, right?"

"Yeah." The boy's response was mumbled.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright? I can't imagine how fast I was walking, I mean, I didn't see you, are—are you alright?" Hermione's words seemed to come out of her mouth faster than she could think them up. Blaise Zabini, the proud Slytherin, was crying. With just how much force had she knocked him down? Or maybe he'd been running?

"I'm... fine." He sniffled, and looked away. She noticed, then, that his eyes were red. He'd been crying before she knocked him over. She pretended not to notice and got to her feet.

"Can I help you up?" she offered him her hand. He glanced around hesitantly, and she wondered if he'd be more embarrassed about touching a muggleborn's hand or being seen crying. Whichever was worse, he ended up nodding, and she helped to pull him up.

"Thanks," he murmured. He glanced away from her again and another tear tread down his dark cheeks.

"Are you hurt?" she suggested, rather than asked, as he seemed to be searching the walls for a good explanation as to why he was crying. He didn't owe her one, of course, but then, at the same time, if he didn't offer one she'd come up with her own.

"No," he said automatically, regretting it soon after as he realized, too late, that she was trying to help him save face.

"Oh, well, er, good," she struggled for words. She wished she could just walk away, but that would be even worse. "Is-- is everything alright?"

"Yeah, um, I'm just in a hurry. Er, seeya later," the Slytherin muttered lamely, making to walk away.

"Yeah, seeya," Hermione said, and they both paused for another moment before parting ways. It was funny, she thought as she became aware that the boy's footsteps were becoming quieter, they'd probably never have a conversation as long as that one again, and yet they'd ended it with 'seeya.'

_** ~x~x~x~x~x~**_

Blaise sniffled and wiped his eyes. "You _are_ handsome," he murmured, scrutinizing the image in the mirror before him. He nodded, as if to reassure himself. "Yeah," he said, beginning to believe it a little as he eyed his cheekbones, "Yeah_._ I _am_. I'm _really_ handsome._ Yeah_!"

"Yes, you_ are_ handsome, aren't you?" a wimpering sort of voice came from behind a nearby stall.

"I didn't—I thought this bathroom was—I'm not a pervert, I swear! I just—" for the second time that day, Blaise struggled to explain himself. This was the deserted bathroom, right? Had he really gone in the wrong one? He hoped to Merlin that it was a first or second year in the stall, so no one would find out.

"Oooh," the voice interrupted, "Come to_ spy _on me, have you? Not that I mind."

Shivers ran down his spine as he searched for something to say, but his whole body turned to metaphoric ice when the stall door opened and revealed a ghost. The eerie reflection of a girl moved towards him and he sprinted out of the bathroom as fast as he could, running all the way back to the common room despite not being followed.

_**~x~**_


	8. Don't Be Stupid

Disclaimer: _No copyright infringement is intended._

**A Bet To Regret:** _Chapter Eight, Don't Be Stupid_

"Miss Granger, how did you happen upon this note?"

"I found it in the common room, Professor Flitwick. Can you tell whose it is?"

"Why, it... no, no, it wouldn't be, would it."

"Sorry, sir?"

"Well, I was just-it's preposterous, I suppose, but it does look an awful lot like Mr. Malfoy's handwriting. I would perform a tracing charm, but, of course, that would be inappropriate in light of the fact that this is, after all, a student's possession."

"I see. Thank you, professor. I'll return it to him, then."

"Oh, I would advise against that, Miss Granger-house rivalry runs high this time of year."

"I'm sure he'll be civil. Thanks again, professor."

"Good day, Miss Granger!"

Hermione held her forged note tightly in her hand as she exited the Charms room, secretly pleased that her forgery had been so accurate but, at the same time, furious at her discovery.

Malfoy. It was _Malfoy_.

Sure, it was infinitely preferable to breaking some first year's heart, but all the same. It was so insulting! Instead of attacking her verbally or hexing her, or something, as he would have to Harry or Ron, he had played with her emotions-or tried to. Just because she was a girl!  
The more Hermione thought about it the angrier she became and by the time she stormed into the Great Hall she had herself convinced that she was acting as the champion of modern feminism. Only when she approached the Slytherin table did some of her inner fire die out.

She came to a stop behind Draco Malfoy and his two best mates, seated on either side of him, turned around before he did. Crabbe and Goyle were quick to draw their wands, but Mafoy called them off.  
"C'mon, wands down, she's just visiting." They lowered their wands obediently but continued to glare at her as Draco slid around to face her on the bench. "What it is you want so desperately to say to me, Granger?"

"I know."

"Know what?" The unconvincing surprise in his tone confirmed everything.

"I know you've been sending me-flowers, and things."

"I di-" He began to protest but she cut him off sharply.

"You will cut that out this instant, Draco Malfoy, or Merlin help me I will-"

"Wait!" Now it was his turn to interrupt. Malfoy stood, raising his hands in surrender

before her, eyes darting quickly to a smirking Blaise Zabini seated some ways down the table. "Please, Granger, let me explain. I can explain."

"Go on, then. Explain yourself." Hermione was still fuming as she posited the crumpled forgery into her pocket and felt around for a grip on her wand.

"I had to send them without a name. It wasn't a hoax, I just-would you have read them if you knew it was me?"

"No," she answered honestly.

"That's just it, Granger, I-I like you."

"You hate me," she corrected flatly. "Don't be stupid."

The end of the hall, occupied by students in their year, grew quiet compared to others as the other houses strained to hear what was going on at the Slytherin table.

"I'm not stupid-well, compared to you, maybe, but-what I mean is, I like you. Love you, even! I do, I bloody do. I am telling you, honest to Salazaar. I am fascinated by you, Hermione, and I want you to give me a chance to make up for all the rubbish I've pulled."

Still clutching her wand, Hermione spat out, "Fine."

"When-?" Malfoy began to ask.

"Hogsmeade, this weekend. Come alone."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Farther along the table, Blaise Zabini's face fell into his hands. Bet lost. All of that pain for nothing. The rejection was rendered meaningless now, and yet still it stung.

After a few minutes of brooding blindly to himself, he heard an airy voice coming from behind him.

"Blaise, are you still interested in taking me out on a date? It's Hogsmeade weekend and Neville's got homework, so I haven't anyone to go with. You could take me, if you want, it seems harmless."

"Yes. Yes, Luna, I'd love to."

**-x-**

**Author's Note: ** I'm sorry I was so long plagued with writer's block, along with the usual "real life" commitments. Thank you so much for reading and for the support shown in the reviews. Take care.


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